The Music Box
by Eliot Rosewater
Summary: There is red in her ledger and ghosts on her heels: The Black Widow pulls a long con in a terrorist organization. Collateral damage is inevitable.
1. Overture

Natalia Romanova – also known as Natasha Romanoff, also known as Natalie Rushman, also known as Nadine Roman, also known as Laura Matthers, also known as Oktober, also known as Tsarina and countless other names – walks among the ruins of what was once a vast mansion. This husk of a home still smolders. If she were someone else, she might be admiring her work. But Natalia Romanova is not a vain woman. What she is, however, is thorough.

If anyone happened to be walking by, they might think she looks out of place in the wreckage. The destroyed infrastructure is blackened beyond recognition. All the decadent stories that existed above the foundation have been blasted away. The remains are littered across the vast grounds. But Natalia Romanova has not a single hair out of place. Her clothes are pristine and free of even the smallest smudge of ash. She likes to think that she has never seen anything so completely destroyed, but she knows that it is not true.

Natalia Romanova is the reason that this house has been reduced to rubble. She arranged for the explosive charges to be planted in the mansion she spent the last year working in. For the most part, she is unaffected by the ruined house. This is what makes her an excellent agent. This is why she has obtained the rank she has. That and the ability to act. Natalia Romanova is an excellent actress. She is one of the best sleeper agents available for hire.

As she moves among the smoldering debris, she kicks over the lifeless bodies that litter the ground. One takes a shuttering breath, probably his last. Natalia Romanova un-holsters one of her handguns and shoots him in the back of the head all in one motion. She has to be sure. With another kick that rolls the body onto its side, she moves on with her firearm still out. There may be more.

Natalia Romanova counts twenty-seven bodies. That accounts for more than the required targets. Bonuses. She shoots four that twitch to ensure that they're completely dead. It wouldn't do for anyone to make it out of the blast. Natalia Romanova has accepted long ago that ghosts will follow her. She can – and has – dealt with that thus far. She does not fear what she has done. If any of this stained her conscience, Natalia Romanova wouldn't do it. All that she has done has always been her choice. Sure, some may point out that decisions were made under duress or were coerced out of her. But in the end it was always Natalia Romanova's choice. She can endure being haunted because she chose to be that way. Ghosts may leave this burning grave with her but living bodies cannot.

Part of the second landing still exists. It is not safe to climb the part of the staircase that has not yet crumbled, but Natalia Romanova has never lived by what is safe. She takes the stairs with steps as light as kisses. It is the north end of the house that still stands. It was a miscalculation on the engineer's part. Or it was a simple wiring problem that could not be avoided. In any case, the very end of the north wing is not completely collapsed. The house is made of brick; it would not have burned down. The misfire is harmless since all the targets were neutralized. Natalia Romanova makes a mental note to berate the engineer anyway. It _could_ have been important that this end of the mansion come down.

As she moves down the blackened hallway, she hears a tinkling sound. It is the tinny song from a music box. Natalia Romanova knows immediately what it means. The door to a bedroom has been blown off or burned away – she doesn't know which and doesn't care to find out. She stops in the block of sunlight that shines into the burned hallway through the doorway and looks into the bedroom.

The furniture looks like it was put in a massive box and shaken up by a giant. The frame of the bed is broken and tossed about. Glass from the bay window glitters on the dirtied carpet. The drawers have been ripped from the dressing table and lie dismantled among the rest of the debris. The ceiling had been torn clear off. It is snowing into the bedroom. Natalia Romanova follows the sound of the music box into the room as if it is a siren's song. She kneels down beside the remnants of the dressing table and pushes aside broken glass, ruined dolls, and charred bits of the wall.

When she can see it, Natalia Romanova lifts the singing music box out of the wreckage. Miraculously, the tiny carving of the ballerina still turns on her platform within the box. It was pink once but is now black with burns and ashes. She closes the box, cutting off the song. It is only after she does this that she hears it. Someone is crying. Natalia Romanova turns toward the sound.

On the other side of the gutted mattress, the body of a little girl lies. Natalia Romanova halts when she sees that the child is still alive. The girl is pinned beneath debris, but Natalia Romanova can tell that the girl's legs are bleeding and mangled. The little girl's fingers are trembling on the carpet that her blood has already stained. Her body is beyond broken, but she still lives and she still cries. She rolls her broken face toward Natalia Romanova, and she smiles as if an angel has arrived to carry her away from this place.

"Natuska," the girl says, choking on the word. She takes a pained breath, perhaps to say more, but she is cut off by the discharge of a firearm. The little girl's eyes go dull.

Natalia Romanova lowers her handgun, and takes a breath. She tosses the music box that is in her hand back into the pile of rubble. Turning on her heel, she exits the bedroom, thinking that the engineer will be slaughtered for his inability to collapse the entire mansion.

Natalia Romanova – also known as Natuska Shostakova – is haunted by another ghost.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

**This is the first of thirteen planned parts. The next twelve will examine the events that took place in each of the months prior to what happened here (for example, the next installment will take place twelve months ago, and the one after that will be eleven, and so forth). The good ol' start-with-the-ending method. Updates won't be on a regular schedule since I'm working on something else right now. Doesn't take me long to write things like this, so it _should_ be completed in a timely manner. **

**I use Natalia Romanova instead of Natasha Romanoff (as I'm sure you noticed). I don't know why, but I like this better. I hope it doesn't bother you. **

**Cheers,**

**E.R.**


	2. The Sleeping Beauty

_February - Twelve Months Earlier_

"We're glad to have you on board," he says to Natuska Shostakova.

"I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be," she says.

The man is Ilya Nemchinov and he is the ringleader of an illegal weapons manufacturing group. Natuska Shostakova is a mask worn by Natalia Romanova. She has been in place for a few months and has now finally secured a position at Nemchinov's side. From now on she will gather information and dig as deeply as she can into his operation. Natalia Romanova will be Natuska Shostakova until such a time that there is no more information to be gained from Nemchinov's group. Then she will orchestrate a tragedy that will decimate the operation. A man assembling explosives is bound to have an accident.

Nemchinov is a young man, considering that he runs a powerful terrorist group. He does not see his group or their intentions in line with the word 'terrorist.' Natalia Romanova doesn't care what he considers himself to be nor what good he thinks his actions bring. It is not her place to be concerned with such things. They say infiltrate his club, so she does. They say bring the operation burning to the ground, so she will. There is nothing else to it. She will act and lie and rain death upon at least fifteen people.

Ilya Nemchinov shows her around his grounds. He has the gall to hold the assembly of weapons inside his very own mansion. Granted the assembly area is twenty feet below the house's foundation. Still. He runs a terrorist group out of his very house. None of this he tells her outright. She is not, after all, supposed to know that he is the leader of a terrorist group. Her current front is that of a domestic servant. An oblivious assistant.

Nemchinov introduces her to all the important men that oversee and package the weapons he deals in the assembly room. Again, he does not say this. He does not need to. She knows that there is no other reason for so many other men to be wandering about his house. More than that, at least some of this information was provided to her before the mission was assigned. She gathered the identities of most of the gun-runners before the position as Ilya Nemchinov's assistant was officially awarded to her. Nemchinov shows her everything but the plant that lives beneath his golden mansion.

Natuska smiles and says hello. But Natalia Romanova remembers every face and discreetly collects the fingerprints of every single man with whom she shakes hands. Natalia has the technological backing of the agency she was hired at. Nemchinov may make weapons, but things far more terrifying than explosives have threatened Natalia Romanova.

She has domestic duties. Natalia doesn't think this is a bad thing. She will have around-the-clock access to his mansion. Countless opportunities to dig out every last morsel of information. Should something need to be cleaned, Natuska provides Natalia with countless excuses as to why she is wandering the mansion. Perhaps she is lost. Perhaps she is trying to find a particular sheaf of papers for Nemchinov. Her best excuses? They all involve little Inga Nemchinova, Ilya's daughter. For it is the little girl that Natuska is supposed to attend while Natalia unearths terrorist secrets.

_Do not mind the redheaded woman, she is merely playing hide-and-seek with little Inga._

Nemchinov leaves Natuska to settle into her room. Natalia is not surprised to see that it is significantly less extravagant than the rest of the house. After all, she is the help. As soon as she is assured that she is alone, Natalia tactfully sweeps the room for bugs and cameras. She finds several. Knowing that she cannot break them, she turns them to face another direction or interferes with their signal. She leaves a few untampered. It would not do to have Nemchinov's security team know that she knows she is being spied upon. Her cover would be shot to hell. Her biggest concern is to find each device's frequency and send them back to her parent company. After there is enough data, they will be able to looped pre-recorded footage into the feed. She will live with Nemchinov's eyes on her for only a short while.

Once the surveillance is dealt with, Natalia unpacks Natuska's costume. It is modest. The biggest unknown in this plan is the daughter. Not enough information could be gathered on her since Nemchinov keeps her so well guarded. Terrorist though he may be, he cared deeply for his daughter. So Natalia didn't know what sort of temperament the child had. She would work with the child no matter what, but it would make the job so much easier if the girl liked Natuska. Natalia didn't give two shits whether the girl liked her as long as Inga did as Natuska said.

At the appropriate time, Natuska tells Ilya Nemchinov that she is going to pick up the girl from her dance class. Natalia stands outside of the studio in the small town near which the Nemchinov family lives. The doors come open and several little girls and a few boys spill out onto the walk. Natalia waves to the little girl she recognizes from pictures hung on Ilya's walls and has her Natuska mask smile warmly.

"You must be Inga. Your father's just hired me to help out with you. I'm Natuska," Natalia says.

"Hello, Natuska," the girl says shyly.

On the way back to the mansion, Natalia asks Inga friendly questions. They are vague on the surface, nothing too personal. They are merely strangers on their way to becoming friends. If Natalia wants the freedom to explore Nemchinov's weapons plant of a house, she will need Inga's trust. The girl likes to talk. She must be lonely in that house all on her own. The thought of someone new always being around - being around for _her_ sake - both excites and scares her. Inga wants company, she says, but she is not sure how to act around people. She had seldom been anyone's center of attention.

"What do you like to do in your spare time?" Natalia asks pleasantly.

Inga shrugs. "Sometimes I sing. Papa had a man teach me the piano and the cello. I play sometimes."

Just a young girl—eleven, if Natalia's memory serves—and accomplished with two instruments. She had seen the awards in Nemchinov's home already, but did not know that they belonged to the girl. Inga was positively a virtuoso.

The girl leaned toward Natalia with youthful happiness on her face. "But do you know what I want more than anything?"

Natalia did not.

"I want to be a ballerina. They fly, don't they, Natuska? Have you ever been to the ballet?"

Natalia nods her head. "I used to dance myself."

Inga eyes went wide. "Where?"

For a brief moment Natalia considers lying. But she convinces herself that the truth would be harmless. After all, she was building trust with this girl. Trust went hand in hand with truth. Never mind that absolutely everything about the person Natalia was presenting to little Inga was a lie. She would let Natuska tell Inga this one truth.

"I studied with the Bolshoi Ballet for a bit," Natalia says.

"Truly, Natuska?" she breathes. "You must be a beautiful dancer! You must dance for me! Will you show me? Will you teach me how to dance like a Bolshoi ballerina? Please, Natuska."

For a single moment, Natalia sees in Inga Nemchinova's eyes someone that she used to know. It is gone in a blink of the little girl's eyes.

"Do you think I could be a Bolshoi dancer like you?"

Natalia thinks that Inga Nemchinova is not a pretty girl. She knows that the child must be picked on mercilessly for it. Inga's face is round, her eyes closely and deeply set. Though she has a chin, her jaw seems not to exist; her cheeks flowing right down into a neck. Natalia smiles at the girl. She has a beautiful neck. From the seats of a theatre no one would be able to see her face that well. They would see nothing but the heavy stage makeup. But they would be able to see the long and graceful line of her neck.

Natalia says, "If you work very hard and love ballet very much, you will dance in any company you wish."

The most innocently pleased look shines through Inga's round face. She looks for all the world as though no one would ever say something so nice about her again. Natalia would have felt guilt for lying to the girl if she cared. But the only regard Natalia has for the Nemchinov girl is for what she represents. Inga is both a cover and an obstacle.

A week later, Inga's classmates have made fun of her in class. She cries messily on Natuska while Natalia is annoyed. Ilya Nemchinov becomes concerned and buys his daughter comfort because he does not know how to offer it organically. Nemchinov sends Natuska and Inga to see _The Sleeping Beauty_ in the city the next night. He cannot go with them because he has to go out of town. Natuska and Inga should go out too, he says. They do and have a wonderful time.

Natalia is not fooled.

That night after she returns to the mansion and sends Inga off to bed, Natalia leaves all traces of Natuska behind her as if the front is some tangible thing that may be picked up and placed somewhere else. Natalia scours the mansion. Quiet as the night, Natalia breaks into Ilya Nemchinov's study. She finds trick doors and heavy security. The security is easily dealt with; her presence erased. Her prize is found in the form of shipping schedules. Natalia takes down all the information and sends it back to her employer.

The next objective is to monitor these shipping entries and find out who the suppliers are. But that is for another night.

In the morning, Ilya Nemchinov returns to his mansion to find Natuska teaching his little girl how to sew ribbons into her pointe shoes.


	3. Afternoon of a Faun

_March - Eleven Months Earlier_

Nemchinov has an exchange upcoming. Natalia has much to do. The most important is to rid herself of the responsibility of Inga. This is easy. After helping the girl get used to turning _en pointe_, Natuska talks about a four-day camp for dancers new to pointe work (which just so happens to land on the same spot in the calendar as the pending weapons exchange). Little Inga Nemchinova does the rest; she finds the program through whatever channel children her age use to find the information they desire. She pesters her father into letting her go. Nemchinov has his reservations. He does not like his daughter out of his reach. Privately, Natalia does not understand Nemchinov's tendency to keep his daughter so close. Does he prefer to ignore her only when she is in close proximity?

Natalia reminds herself that she doesn't care.

In the end, Ilya Nemchinov proves to be easily swayed. He bows to his daughter batting her eyelashes and calling him 'daddy.' Natalia wonders if the girl is not cleverer than she appears. Inga is delighted to go. She asks Natuska to help her improve her technique. The purpose of Natuska's employment is not to teach Inga dance, but Natalia does as the girl asks. Natalia notices that Inga has relatively weak ankles for a girl starting pointe work. She could break an ankle without proper strength. Natalia says nothing. It will be easier to go about her work if the girl is immobilized with an injury.

Nemchinov sees his daughter off on the day she leaves for the sleep-away dance camp. He repeatedly tells Inga that he loves her as though he never expects to see her again—as if he has something to prove. The girl is just old enough to realize that this is embarrassing behavior.

Ilya Nemchinov says to Natuska after he has temporarily let Inga fly the nest, "It is a dangerous thing having children, you know. Wherever she goes she takes my heart."

Natalia scoffs but Natuska smiles at the sentiment. "I hope to experience that kind of love for myself one day," she lies.

"That is the only kind of love there is, Natuska. No one loves anything but the little bodies they pour their heart into. Love is for our children and no one else."

_How vulnerable he makes himself_, Natalia thinks. Her whole mission could be cut short if she simply abducted Inga Nemchinova. Ilya Nemchinov would barter for her return; he would offer himself in exchange for his daughter's release. Then she could simply force all the answers they need out of the man.

Perhaps it is better to do it the way Natalia has been hired to. She can be quieter than kidnapping. There would be a limit to what Nemchinov could provide. Natalia is meant to find out more than what only Nemchinov knows. Torturing information from him could bring down his manufacturing plant. Infiltrating a link in the chain such as Natalia has done will bring down the suppliers, the assembly, and the buyers. In short, she may erase an entire institution from the record of history.

Nemchinov tells Natuska that he has to go away on business, which is not a lie. She will have a few days off. He tells her that he expects to return around the same time as Inga and that he will pick up his daughter on the fourth day. He wishes she enjoys her break. As soon as he is gone, Natuska is tucked away in storage. Natalia—free from prying eyes—makes it her mission to explore the assembly plant. The exchange which Nemchinov has gone off to make is with the "true terrorists." That is, the ones that will physically attack their target. There is more than one group for which Nemchinov provides weapons. This particular exchange is with a rather large partner. Nemchinov has taken most of his men with him. Patrols of the manufacturing facility below the house will be at a minimum. There is also video surveillance, but that is child's play for Natalia Romanova.

She descends to the "hidden" facility through the elevator shaft, forgoing the actual device. Had she used it, what little staff that is remaining would become suspicious. There is no door at the bottom of the elevator shaft. It opens directly into the corridors. They are dingy and stony—more reminiscent of a cellar than a weapons plant. But she is familiar with fronts. Things are hardly ever what they appear, Natalia most of all.

Pausing to listen, she counts the footsteps in the corridor. They echo in the absence of company. Natalia counts.

_One, two, three, four, five, six._

She steps into the hall and heads in the opposite direction of that which the footsteps are traveling. The layout of the plant is not well-known to her, but Natalia has gone on missions with less intel than what she has now. Nemchinov, by and large, is not a terribly smart or complicated man. This will not be difficult to figure out.

Based on the patterns she's been observing during her time in the mansion, there will be no more than six people prowling the halls between the elevator and the actual assembly room. She passes four without problem in the corridors. Though they are long and bare of any place to hide, the halls also let sounds travel quite easily. She can hear when one of the "guards" approaches before they even decided to turn around. These men are the newest recruits to Nemchinov's operation. They are still on probation. None are trusted enough yet to go on an exchange. They have not committed any murders with the very weapons they are in charge of guarding right now—the initiation.

Natalia almost wishes she could have infiltrated Nemchinov's club as a recruit. It would almost be too easy to achieve what she must sneak around doing now.

Before long, she locates the door to the assembly area. Locked, of course. She picks the simple lock carefully enough. As for the device demanding she identify herself? Well, there was a reason that she collected all of those men's fingerprints when Nemchinov first introduced her to them.

The door does not open quietly. Luck is with her. The two men standing guard over the area are in a lofted overseer's box above the floor. The assembly plant is a positive factory. It is a huge room, cleaner and more sophisticated than the corridors she's traveled through to find it. The ceilings are almost as high as those in the ornate building above them. Mostly, it is empty of weapons. They are out with the rest of the members, exchanging hands. Explosives for money. The money will come back here and be paid in part to the supplier. The pieces of equipment in need of attention are stacked in oil drums—a disguise. Every link in this chain knows that the end result is slaughter, but none of them care much. If anything, they support it.

Keeping an eye on the men in the glass box overhead, Natalia makes her way across the big, empty floor toward the oil drums. If the men would only turn around, they would see her. But their attention is fully focused on their drinks and game of cards. If she is quiet, Natalia can hear their wits leaving them.

She carefully pops the lid off one of the drums. Removing the false bottom, she finds mere pieces of semi-automatic weapons; the eggs that will be incubated and modified and pushed from the nest as abominations. Natalia takes ammunition from three magazines from different levels in the drum, replacing the ones she takes with dummy rounds. The replacements do not much resemble the rounds she takes, but it will do for now. Natalia repeats this process with four other barrels that are not near to each other.

There are no other containers on the assembly floor. She did not expect there to be much. All the material that Nemchinov had was sent off with all the men to be sold. None of the heavy stuff, the bomb-makers, or the illicit chemicals are here. A container of perfectly legally-obtainable acid sits on a counter lining one of the walls. She takes a sample of that as well. There are ingredients for amateur weapons. Why anyone would buy Molotov cocktails like this is anyone's guess. If anyone wanted an improvised incendiary device that badly, surely they could make something as pedestrian as a poor man's grenade on their own.

In her inspection, she finds cleverly disguised samples of white phosphorous. Not for the first time, Natalia sees the value of wearing gloves. She collects a specimen of the substance and puts it with the rest. Investigating further, she finds white phosphorous mortar rounds. _Terror_ _indeed,_ she thinks. Knowing that taking one of these would be incredibly stupid, Natalia takes the time to memorize every single mark on the rounds that may give her some clue as to who provided Nemchinov with it.

Already she is planning for another excuse that would get her down here to investigate.

One of the men drinking—and evidently losing a card game—nearly spots her. Natalia presses herself to the side of the counter and thanks humanity for its affinity for alcohol. She has done enough for now. Escaping the dingy corridors is nearly as easy as infiltrating them. Echoes warn her of anyone's advance. Stepping into the hole where an elevator door should be, Natalia scales the pit. She revels in the exertion.

On the second day that the Nemchinov family is away, Natuska tells the men outside ("security") that she is going to visit her sister in the city, and she will see them tomorrow night. While the silly nanny does that, Natalia hand-delivers her samples to her employer. They analyze the samples without further delay. By the time Natalia returns to the Nemchinov property on the third night, they have been able to identify a supplier of the small arms. The ammunition is distinctive and traceable—they were sloppy and hasty in trying to fulfill Nemchinov's order. That supplier will be the first in a long line of dominoes to fall.

On the fourth day—the day that father and daughter return—Natuska greets them at the door with smiles and hugs and çäkçäk. Ilya Nemchinov smiles politely and then heads off with his men to their conference room to plan and plot. It is tempting to follow and listen, but Natalia must be Natuska now.

Inga regales Natuska with tales from dance camp. The little girl rolled her ankle more than once, but a lot of others did too. To warm up, they did dances in bare feet. All the dancers' feet were sore from their hardly-broken-in pointe shoes. Her class worked with a boys' group on a basic _pas de deux_. She got to dance a part from _Afternoon of a Faun_ with Oleg Malkin. Inga is in love.


	4. Romeo and Juliet

_April – Ten Months Earlier_

Life with the Nemchinovs is becoming far too familiar. Natalia finds herself stuck in the routine of their life. Inga spends the mornings with her tutors, going over those lessons that are so vital to growing minds. After complaining about the other students that made her cry, Ilya Nemchinov hires his daughter a private dance teacher. They spend all afternoon—_every afternoon_—in the same studio where she used to be a part of a class (despite the fact that there is a perfectly equipped studio in the mansion Inga already lives in). Inga despises her new teacher even more than she hated being teased in class. Natalia wonders how long it will be before Ilya Nemchinov fires the teacher and hires a new victim.

In the evenings, Inga plays the piano and cello for an hour each. Most of these days Natalia wonders why they needed to hire Natuska at all; Inga is occupied all day. Natuska spends most of her time cleaning and doing other mindless domestic tasks. Natalia doesn't mind this very much as it gives her excellent opportunities to snoop around the house and listen outside closed doors.

Often, Oleg Malkin will dance a _pas de deux_ with Inga. He is two years older than her. When Natuska collects the girl from the studio, she talks about him without ever stopping to take a breath. Natalia knows more about the boy than she does about Nemchinov's organization. She knows he has green eyes and the softest hair Inga has ever felt. She knows that Inga thinks they will be married and be principal dancers in a world-renowned company one day. She knows Inga loves how raindrops cling to his hair and the cold makes his cheeks turn pink. At night, Natalia sits on the edge of the bathtub in Inga's private bathroom and shows the girl the best ways to tape up her blistered and raw feet. In exchange for this aid, Inga offers useless information about Oleg.

Inga is seated on the the toilet seat now with one of her mangled feet in Natuska's lap. Natalia holds a pin in the flame of a cigarette lighter until it glows. After a few seconds, she clicks off the lighter and waits for the metal to cool.

Inga says, "He said that he's been dancing since he was three. His mother was a dancer when she was younger and really wanted him to do it. She was only ever a part of the _corps de ballet_ for a smallish company. She pushes him so much because she wants him to have all the success she didn't."

"I'm sure he will have it," Natalia says. She doesn't add that it's true because male dancers are so much smaller in number. It's likely that he'll be more successful than his mother simply because he has less competition. Natalia has never really seen Oleg Malkin dance, so she can't say whether he is any good or not.

"I think so, too," says Inga. "He's one of the strongest dancers at the studio. They give him privates because he has so much promise. He doesn't even have to pay anything for them."

"They're making a big investment in him then."

"I know. I hope that dancing with him makes me better. I think it does. He's so good that it makes me work harder."

"I can tell," Natalia says and gestures to Inga's mangled foot in her lap.

Inga looks only a little bit flattered. "I have been trying to make a better effort. But that teacher Father got me is an idiot, Natuska. I don't think he knows what he's doing. He may have been a great dancer, but he certainly isn't a great teacher. Oleg says that my teacher is known for getting students injured."

"Hmm," says Natalia. She gently pokes the cooled pin into the base a huge blister on the side of Inga's foot. It is so big that she cannot walk without pain, not to mention that her foot won't fit into her pointe shoe because of it. Making another hole, Natalia slowly and carefully drains the fluid under the skin.

"We're preparing for a summer program with a _real_ ballet school. The Edel, I think it's called. The auditions are in June. I hope this idiot knows what he's doing, Natuska, because I really want this spot. No more of this poor studio. I'll be able to study in a school that actually has a professional company. Oleg is going to audition. We're working together."

"You'll have to work very hard. Harder than you are now."

"Yes, of course. Duh."

Inga goes unusually quiet. Natalia is grateful and continues to drain the girl's blisters. There are so many. Some had been sheared open before Inga ever took her pointe shoes off. Just like every other dancer.

"Have you ever taught, Natuska?" Inga asks suddenly.

"Taught what?"

"Dance. Ballet."

"No."

"Not even once?"

Natalia finally looks up from the foot that looks so much like hers used to when she was someone else—when she was someone. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you danced with the Bolshoi."

"I _studied _with the Bolshoi."

"Same thing. You were good enough for them. I was wondering if you could teach me. If I can dance as good as you did for the Bolshoi, then surely I'll be good enough for Edel's summer program."

"I am no teacher, Inga," she says carefully. "It has been a long time since I've danced."

"Come on, Natuska. You're not even old. You can't have stopped dancing _that_ long ago."

Thousands of explanations and excuses run through Natalia's head. _No, I have been doing things much more important than ballet since I left the Bolshoi. I do not want to remember what it was like while I was studying. I do not. I will not. It was not for dance that I am the way I am. I had the best grand jeté because I was training for something much more demanding than mere dancing. I will not tell you how I became this flexible. You do not need to hyperextend your joints until it is not only natural, but comfortable. You do not need to know how to dislocate and reduce your own bones at will._

Natuska smiles. "Your teacher will make sure you are prepared for the audition, Inga."

"If I asked you to, would you dance with me? Would you give me lessons?" There is a challenge in her voice. Inga Nemchinova is reminding Natalia who works for whom. This is a form of battle that Natalia is all too familiar with.

"I don't even have shoes, Inga," she says evasively. For the first time in _years_, Natalia feels something inside her.

"We can get you shoes." She gestures to the grandness of her bathroom. "Money is not an issue, Natuska. Father wouldn't even care. He would rather buy you pointe shoes than pay someone to teach me. He's already paying you anyway."

"Money has nothing to do with it, Inga. I am no teacher."

"Then dance for me. _Any_ dance. I can learn something from watching you. You don't have to say a single word of advice to me."

"I thought you were learning from watching Oleg."

"He's a boy. I can only learn so much from him."

"And there is a lot you can learn from the teacher you already have."

Natalia raises an eyebrow at the girl. Inga smiles back but there is something moving under that mask of youthful curiosity. The girl sighs dramatically.

"Fine, then. At least tell me this, Natuska: What was the last dance you did for the Bolshoi Ballet?"

Inga is asking Natuska, but that _feeling_ inside Natalia moves. Its presence is faint, no more than a memory of pathos. But it is more than anything she has felt since she had a name. A weight settles in her stomach as the words cross her lips. "'The Dying Swan.'"

Inga and Oleg have plans to walk around the city together after rehearsal. Nemchinov asks Natuska to be Inga and Oleg's chaperon for their 'date.' She has to agree, but Natalia knows that he wants her out of the mansion because he is having a meeting about upcoming transactions. Natalia plants a bug on one of the men that she knows will be present for the meeting before Natuska leaves the grounds.

So on Saturday afternoon, Natalia finds herself trailing several steps behind Inga and Oleg as they travel the city. Her hair hides the small transceiver in her ear. Neither of the children pays her any mind, so they don't realize that she isn't paying _them_ any mind either. They are walking alongside a lazy river. Tourists and visitors are some of the only other people there. Mothers hold their children's hands. Sisters on the other side of windows sit at tables laughing over warm drinks. Young people stand with their foreheads touching as they take pictures of themselves in front of the river (Inga did this with Oleg). An old couple sits with their knees touching on a bench. They don't speak, but it looks intimate and private. Natalia looks away from them.

Inga reaches for Oleg's hand, interlocking their fingers. He lets her. Quickly, Inga looks over her shoulder and smiles triumphantly—innocently—back at Natuska. The smile that Natalia offers in return comes organically. As soon as the girl is facing forward again, the levity disappears from Natalia's face.

A voice in her ear buzzes louder than it had been just a moment ago.

"_Kozlov has gone under. Half his crew was seized for having stolen property or some bullshit. He's one of the only ones left, and they're watching him._"

"_How did they even know he was selling? Kozlov is one of the most discreet sellers out there._"

". . . _h__eard that they were set up at their warehouse just after an import. Partner left, and next thing they know there were sirens everywhere._"

_ "A rat?"_

"_Old partner has a beef with him? Did it to get revenge?_"

"_Wherever their leak is, it's not our concern_." Nemchinov. "_What _is_ our concern is fulfilling our orders without getting any authorities involved. They're already suspicious—they're just not looking for us in the right places. If we're going to meet the Synov'ya's demands, we need another supplier. Any suggestions?_"

If Natalia were someone else, she might be smirking at the discord that she's sowed. But she is herself, and she refrains from such obscene displays of emotion. Already Nemchinov is scrambling to fill orders for his partners. She wonders how long she can play with him. The more suppliers he taps, the more people she has the potential to take down. A terrible idea not to investigate how the enigmatic Kozlov was ruined, she thinks. How could Nemchinov not think that whatever force hit one of his suppliers could not also get him? _Idiot man_.

That's one down. The next step for Natalia is to create friction within Nemchinov's ranks, and maybe a little outside of it too.

Oleg chastely kisses Inga at sunset.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

**I'm writing "The Music Box" with the intention of exploring the Black Widow's character. The plot is secondary to that. If the plot seems weak at times, it's because I wanted to write this to try to understand her. I'm sorry if I tricked anyone into thinking that this was going to tell an _actual _story.**

**In the interest of full disclosure, I have never taken a ballet class, nor have I ever been to the ballet. I'm winging it with this stuff. **

**(Call to action: Are there any good Black Widow origin stories out here? Because I would read the shit out of one of those.)**


	5. The Red Shoes

_May – Nine Months Earlier _

Disaster strikes.

Well, it's only disastrous in one point of view. For Inga, it is a disaster. For Natalia, it is an opportunity. For Nemchinov, it is a nuisance.

It starts when Oleg decides that he doesn't want to dance with Inga anymore. He says that she holds him back. He needs a more advanced partner. For her part, Inga does not cry in front of him. She does not cry in front of anyone. Natalia knows that she is upset but doesn't ask about it. It's none of her business. Whenever she walks with her arms laden with linens outside the girl's room, Natalia can hear Inga sobbing. That weight that's taken up residence in Natalia's stomach always seems to swell when those sounds reach her; as if it's trying to crack her from the inside out. Inga's sobs attack her ears like sharp needles. They hook onto something old and integral that is lodged inside Natalia's chest and try to drag it out of her—out into the light. The more the Nemchinov girl cries, the harder the needles and the weight in Natalia's stomach try to force some vital piece of her out into the open.

If only.

Inga is perfectly blank and stoic when she is not in her room. She robotically does whatever the tutors ask of her. She completes her tasks clinically. Her tutors are impressed with her flawless work. Her father compliments her on her perfect technique as he listens to her go through piano movements at night. All of Nemchinov's men offer her smiles and cheap compliments that they might have paid her when she was six. They offer Natuska compliments that are not paid to six year olds. (Natalia induces this kind of behavior in the recruits on purpose. Flirting with them allows her an excuse to get close to them and plant bugs in their pockets or lift weapons from their hiding places. A particularly important task.)

Inga Nemchinova is naught more than a doll and she is admired indeed.

The only time Inga acts alive is in her dance lessons. The comments about her lacking performance have gotten to her. Oleg might as well have branded 'inferior' on her forehead. She is trying too hard to be better. She spends her nights at the _barre _at home, endless _tendu _exercises. She stretches and reaches, points and flexes, leaps and turns, turns out and rises into relevé over and over again. Natalia sits off to the side during Inga's lessons in the studio. Her teacher _is_ an idiot, Natalia is surprised to find. He does not realize that his student is drowning in herself. He tells her not to force herself into a third turn. He tells her that control is more important than the height of her extensions—which is true. But he does not see that his words are not getting to her.

The music starts, and Inga comes alive. She moves across the floor alternating between _petit jeté _and _grand jeté_. She throws herself too much, landing messily. The instructor covers his eyes in frustration for a moment. Inga continues on with the movement, her face unreadable. She kicks back too hard on an _arabesque penché_. Her hand catches the working leg, but she doesn't have the balance to properly straighten it. It goes on, her toes not pointed in the _fouetté en tournant_ sequence. And at the very end she valiantly tries and fails to force a third _pirouette_, supporting ankle painfully buckling from overuse and exhaustion. Inga falters but doesn't fall down.

"No, no, _no_!" the teacher finally snaps. "How many times do I have to tell you? Point your toes! Don't sickle your feet! Shoulders down! You _can't_ do three! I have told you over and over again to turn twice! Do you know what that means, stupid girl? It means two, not three! Can you not count?"

Inga's chest is rising and falling quickly. Her face is flushed. None of it is because of the exertion. There's fire in her eyes. Natalia watches her, knowing what is coming next.

"You are the fool!" Her voice rings with terrifying beauty with the end of the song playing on the stereo. "You are a fool and a failure! I should be able to do three turns by now! I _should_! Because _you_ were supposed to teach me! It is your job to make me do three! You are holding me back! Why can't you push me! Edel won't want me if I can't even do three _pirouettes_! I hate you! You're stupid and a failure and I hate you! I never want to see you again. Get out. _Get out!_"

And the instructor throws up his hands and does. Natalia refrains from shaking her head. A grown man being bossed around by a mere girl. The slamming of the studio door echoes. No one says anything, and the tinkling piano notes are still floating like fireflies around the studio. Natalia looks to where Inga stands in the center of the room. She is fighting tears. That heaviness in Natalia's stomach grows. In the end, Natalia waits for Inga in the car until she collects herself and is ready to go home.

Most of the ride is quiet. Inga nudges Natalia's arm.

"What is it?" she asks the girl.

"I think there's something wrong with my foot." Inga pulls off her shoe (which is really more like a slipper) and shows Natalia her swollen ankle.

She nods. "Ice it when we get back. Tell your father. We'll take you to see someone."

Nemchinov is no mood to deal with his daughter's outburst. He sighs and grumbles, but doesn't reprimand her. He sets an appointment with a physician the next day. In the city. Will Natuska take her? Yes, what else is Natuska for? Inga doesn't sob into her pillow that night.

The next afternoon, Natuska sits beside Inga in the sterile environment that is the orthopedic office. When the physician's assistant calls her name, Natalia asks, "Would you like me to go with you?"

Natalia pretends that nothing flinches in her when Inga shakes her head no.

As soon as the girl is gone beyond the door, Natalia's phone rings. The number is familiar. She ignores the call and promptly leaves the office (knowing that Inga will be busy for a while). When she finds the nearest payphone, Natalia dials the number that was just calling her. It rings for all of a second before the call is picked up.

A voice says, "_WP. Vnuchki. Orya Khomich._"

The line goes dead.

Natalia replaces the phone and goes to work. Orya Khomich lives in a tall, thin house that look as if one strong wind would do it in. The woman who answers Natalia's knock has not quite left the remnants of girlhood behind her. With just one look, Natalia can tell that Orya Khomich is an addict and has been such for most of her sixteen-year old life.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" Khomich says.

_Hostile._

Natalia allows herself to smile. "My name's Nastia."

"What the hell do you want?"

_Defensive._

"I'm here on behalf of Ilya Nemchinov."

Khomich runs. Natalia calmly enters the house and closes the door. _Then_ she pursues the little junky into the house. She catches up to Khomich as she tries to dial a number on her phone while also trying to escape through an upstairs window. Natalia throws a stiletto. It pins the hand Khomich is holding the phone in to the wall. Before her scream can rent the air, Natalia is on her with a hand over her mouth. Tears stream from the girl's eyes and she makes muffled cries from beneath Natalia's gloved palm.

"Be quiet," Natalia says calmly, patiently.

Eventually, Orya Khomich does as she says though the tears do not stop.

Keeping a hold on the knife pinning the girl to the wall, Natalia removes her hand from Khomich's mouth. "If you lie to me, I'm going to know. Understand?"

A single nod.

"You know Slava Malakhov?"

Another nod.

"Call him." Natalia forces the abandoned cell phone into Khomich's hand that is not staked to the wall.

Khomich dials.

Malakhov picks up as if he has been waiting day and night for the call. "Orya?"

Natalia raises an eyebrow in warning and nods to the phone.

Khomich says, "Come. Please."

Malakhov readily agrees. That is the end of their conversation. Natalia knows that they usually don't exchange more than seven words during their calls. She knows that Khomich is always the one to summon a ready and willing Malakhov. Theirs is a secret relationship, since Orya Khomich is the daughter of one of Nemchinov's partners. Not to mention that he is a rather unpredictable man—her father, Pavel Khomich, that is.

Orya Khomich looks up from the disconnected phone to Natalia. There is a desperate plea in her eyes.

Ignoring it, Natalia says, "You work with Vnuchki?"

Hesitation. Nod. (As if she didn't already know that when she threw a knife.)

"Well, then." Natalia wrenches the blade free from the girl's hand. Khomich cradles her punctured limb to her chest while she gasps and cries. "I'll do this as fast as I can."

Orya Khomich doesn't take the meaning of the words until the garrote is already tight around her neck. When Khomich loses consciousness, Natalia slashes her throat. After making a few more shallow slashes and stabs for show, Natalia leaves the stiletto beside the body. She exits through the backdoor and waits until she sees Malakhov turn onto the street. With the prepaid phone that first called her in the orthopedic doctor's office with the information, she dials emergency services, giving the woman on the other end nothing but the address of Orya Khomich's house. Natalia ends the call and drops the phone on the sidewalk, crushing it under her heel. With a single motion, she sweeps the pieces into a nearby sewer grate.

Natalia makes it back to the doctor's office with four minutes to spare. Inga approaches her with the most devastatingly blank look on her face.

Natalia can't stop herself from saying, "How'd it go?"

Inga shakes her head. "Achilles. Can't dance for three weeks."

"You'll miss the Edel auditions."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry." A part of her might actually mean it.

"Yeah."


	6. Don Quixote

_June – Eight Months Earlier_

For quite some time Natalia's work goes unappreciated. And then . . .

A whole vat of trouble spills. The murder of Orya Khomich is front-page news. Everyone knows. Investigators find a stiletto switchblade with the fingerprints of Slava Malakhov on it at the scene of the crime. They also find Slava Malakhov himself at the scene of the crime. All of this is in the news. Because Malakhov is a known associate of Nemchinov—who in turn is a suspected supplier of illegally modified weapons to terrorists—the police and the public are _very_ interested. Nemchinov does not appreciate it. He has a lot of orders to fill, a new supplier to scout, and business to conduct. He cannot do what he needs to with the heat and attention that the horrid murder one of his own men committed has brought the organization.

On top of all of that, his partner—and supplier of the more valuable and sought-after weapons that Nemchinov offers—Pavel Khomich is out for blood.

Nemchinov is not stupid. He will not be able to establish any ties with someone who can provide the mortars and light weapons that the Vnuchki group does any time soon. Those types of relationships take time—time that Nemchinov does not have. His clients want those mortars and light weapons, and they want them as soon as possible. Nemchinov personally contacts Khomich and sets up a meeting in the hopes that their business relationship can be salvaged.

Natalia is not as optimistic as Natuska's employer. She is counting on Khomich being the same way. Of course, she is counting on everything turning out just so. Everything must go as anticipated. Natalia can work on the fly, though she does not like to. The whole point of killing Khomich's daughter was to upset relations between the Vnuchki and Nemchinov. Privately, Natalia had had a moment of doubt when she saw the state of Orya Khomich's house. She thought for a passing second that the girl was estranged from her father and Pavel Khomich wouldn't care in the slightest if his girl was found dead. Why else would he let his daughter go on living in a pigsty when he was the keeper of such large (illegal) funds?

Luckily, it hadn't come to that. It appears that Pavel Khomich cares very much that his daughter is dead. He is even angrier to have found out that a bastard such as Slava Malakhov was despoiling her for who-knows-how-long. (_Well,_ Natalia thinks, _Orya Khomich may have already seen some spoiling of a different kind before Slava._) In all likelihood, Khomich and his Vnuchki won't be handing out any white phosphorous-laced weapons to Nemchinov's brood any time soon. Which was the whole point.

There is the added bonus that Nemchinov has let loose his rage on his own ranks. For all that he is, Slava Malakhov is not a bad friend. When Nemchinov decides that someone needs to put an end to Malakhov before the investigation leads anyone to the mansion's front door, no one is willing. Nemchinov lets the men feel his wrath. Malakhov endangered their operation, ruined their business relationship with the Vnuchki. Ilya Nemchinov gives his ranks one thousand and one reason why Malakhov needs to be dead, but none of those words persuade the men to personally send their friend six feet under. Nemchinov does something very stupid in response—he uses what remains of their white phosphorus on three of Slava Malakhov's biggest supporters until one of them agrees to do it.

Slava Malakhov is killed awaiting trial quite inexplicably two days later.

On the day after the death, Nemchinov goes off with his most-trusted men to meet with Pavel Khomich. He will try to uphold the agreement they have, but Natalia knows that Nemchinov will not be able to save it. Their alliance is dead and gone, and in its place Natalia has instilled hostilities.

She is still feeling quite satisfied with herself after Nemchinov leaves for his meeting. Natalia spends the morning helping Inga stretch. Everything the doctor suggested Inga do to safely recover her ankle is done. Natalia counts for her as she does slow calf raises and heel drops. Inga works on her turnout when she is bored (which is often). A lot of time is spent in the vast sitting room where Inga practices with her instruments. Natalia notices that the girl prefers to play the cello even though she is stronger on the piano. Whenever her father is in the house, Inga plays his favorites at the grand piano. There is an upright player piano in the studio on the mansion's ground floor, and sometimes Natalia will play the pieces she knows for Inga as she gingerly and slowly goes through the dance she would have done for her Edel audition on bare feet—rising just barely to demi-pointe the whole way through.

They are in the in the studio now, player piano plinking out an imperfect adaption of a piece by Tchaikovsky. Natalia sits beside Inga on the floor and they let their legs extend straight out in front of them, leisurely stretching forward and gripping their heels. Natalia has finally managed to get Inga talking again. It took a lot of digging and work, but the girl has finally begun reemerging out of her fog. After the debacle with Oleg Malkin and the injured Achilles, Inga was a miserable sight for quite some time. But now Natalia has managed to pull life out the girl again. She is young and capable of recovering. It won't be long before Malkin is nothing more than a distant memory.

Sitting on the studio in old sweats and familiar ballet slippers, Inga goes on and on about the first ballet she remembers going to. Her mother had taken her to see _The Rite of Spring_. Inga hadn't liked the dance very much, but she remembers loving the company of her mother. Natalia listens, but doesn't offer very much in reply. She doesn't know how to relate to anything the girl says. Natalia has never known a mother. She has known handlers and teachers and instructors. She has known masters. But she has never known a mother or a sister or a brother. There have been a few men that one might describe as paternal figures, but Natalia balks at calling them anything remotely like what a father should be. She doesn't know family. A stupid, silly part of her thinks that Inga is helping Natalia just as much as Natuska is helping Inga. They are learning to _be_ from each other.

Inga, a dancer; Natalia, a person.

Inga is saying, "I think I would like to see it again. _The Rite of Spring_, I mean. Perhaps I was too young then to really appreciate it. Maybe I'm just hoping it will remind me of my mother. There aren't a lot of things left of her in the house."

It sounds as if the girl is speaking more to herself than to Natalia, so she doesn't offer a reply. There aren't a lot of reminders of mothers in any of the places that Natalia has taken up residence in either. But that is completely different from Inga. There is very little—if anything—in common between Inga Nemchinova and the person Natalia was at her age. Something internal shivers at the thought of innocent little Inga in the places Natalia was when she was eleven.

_Inga in red. Inga with poison. Inga in pain. Inga without a name. _

Natalia shakes herself from the thoughts. Trying to focus on what the girl is saying about her mother, she hears it.

Natalia hears footfalls and freezes. There shouldn't be anyone in the house. Anyone that _is_ here is in the basement plant and they should not be leaving the assembly area until Nemchinov returns. Even if they did leave the underground lair, there is no reason for them to come to the studio. No, someone is outside of the room. Natalia can feel it—definitely can hear it. Their steps are practiced in the art of stealth, but Natalia was trained by a ghost with much higher standards. She _knows_.

Inga is still talking and Natalia abruptly cuts her off with a way of the hand. Inga releases her hold on the sides of feet and straightens up.

"What is it?" says Inga.

Natalia gives Inga a significant look that implores the girl to _listen_.

Inga quiets and concentrates. She can't hear anything. Natalia knows she can't. The footsteps have paused, but she can sense that their sneak is just beyond the door. Her mind is far ahead of her, calculating. Without really thinking about it, Natalia's training activates and whatever effort she has been using to maintain the front of Natuska falls away. She knows that Inga can see the difference. The girl isn't stupid for all her youth. Perhaps it happens because Natalia's mind had been stuck on her past and rooms painted in red, but Natuska falls away from her as if she was merely taking off a coat. Something primal and almost _protective _grips Natalia's stomach were that weight has been living for the past several weeks. Inga can see the difference in Natalia—she sees the predator that's been hiding in her nanny's skin rise to the surface.

Natalia makes eye contact with the girl and jerks her head toward the piano. Inga does as she says, skittering away and putting the big, antique instrument between herself and the door. Natalia rolls to her feet, silent as the ghost that taught her. Though the two have stopped speaking, there is still music playing in the studio. The keys depress themselves, and the player piano plays a cover for her. She's stepping across the floor like a shadow, and it's the most natural thing in the world. It is comfortable and organic and Natalia hasn't felt this _right_ in all of her life.

She stands with her back pressed to the wall beside the door. Even dressed as she is, there are weapons on her person. Her hands clench around the line of the garrote disguised as a bracelet. She counts like she was taught.

_One, two, three, four, five, six_.

And she knows the hunter is counting too. Because he kicks the door that is already ajar fully open and fires a gun into the room. There is a silencer on the end, but the shots sound too loud in the room. The slugs bury themselves in the antique wood of the player piano. The sounds become warped. Something purely instinctual gurgles up inside her and she is acting without thought for the first time in what feels like her entire life.

She swings under the outstretched arm, taking a good hold and pulling until she hears the wet pop of the joint leaving the socket. The gun clatters out of his hand. The shooter curses and swings at her with his unhindered arm. He is not a bad opponent, but she has faced far more challenging foes. They counter each other, him always grunting and shouting in pain or frustration. She doesn't make a sound even when he lands a few blows—ghosts don't speak and neither do spiders.

In a series of unlucky events, the attacker untangles himself from her web—she curses her foolishness. The instincts dictating her actions are sloppy. The attacker makes for Inga, who is crouched behind the still-playing mutilated player piano. The hooks inside Natalia dig into that ancient _thing_ that they've been trying to extract for so long and she thinks she feels it come loose.

And then a firearm is discharging. It is quiet—the silencer—but it is still too loud in the room.

Everything in Natalia stops. A grandfather clock chimes somewhere. A gun is fired twice more and a body hits the floor with finality. Natalia chokes out a rough breath as she watches red paint the studio. She looks up and Inga meets her eyes. The attacker's gun falls from the little girl's hand and she begins to cry.


	7. A Midsummer Night's Dream

_July – Seven Months Earlier_

30 June gives birth to 1 July, and a dead man lies on the floor of the dance studio. Natalia stands broken. Compromised. Ruined. _Feeling_. Inga is still crying. They're big, air-sucking sobs. Years of conditioning (which should not have taken so long to kick in) surface and a scream tears itself from Natalia throat. There are no thoughts in her head besides an unending string of curses. Everything has been ruined. Cover blown because of the girl.

_ The girl. She has a name. She has a _name.

That weight in Natalia's gut is heavy. It is growing. Whatever just happened here busted all of her defenses and it has the freedom to consume her.

Even when the "security" gets to them and calls Nemchinov, even when the baron returns home and cradles his weeping daughter, even when they take the body out and lift the blood off the floor, even after _everything_—Natuska will not come back. She doesn't feel like Natuska, and she doesn't feel like Natalia either. It's as if no one's there anymore. The covers and codes names and aliases have fled before she is ever revealed to be what she is. She stands there not as Natuska but only as herself. The men ask her again and again if she's okay. They ask her what happened.

It's late the next morning when words finally come to Natalia's lips. They've steered her to a seat away from the scene of the murder. The first thing she thinks when her mind starts up again is, _Where is the girl with the name? How could I have let this happen to her?_ What she says is, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There are men around her. They are attentive. They shush her and put heavy arms around her shoulders. Take her murderous hands and thread their treacherous fingers through hers. They croon soft word that might work on someone more alive than her. They might work on a person but they don't work on spiders. The _feeling _in her stomach clenches her insides in a painful iron fist. In the midst of all the placating whispering, she does something she hasn't done sincerely since she had only one name given to her by the woman who also gave her life.

She cries.

Nemchinov sends her to a safe house not long after. She doesn't argue because she doesn't know whose voice she'll speak with. Natuska still evades her. _Everything_ except for crushing, foreign _feeling_ remains in her grasp. There are always tears so close to the surface. What makes all of it worse is that she doesn't understand _why_. Why had she fought so poorly? What had stopped her from efficiently taking down that assassin like she has taken down so many before? She had no injuries and was not wearing anything that would have hindered her range of motion. He was definitely not as skilled as she. There is only one ghost and a handful of spiders that could ever truly challenge her in hand-to-hand combat like that. So what had gone wrong?

The only thing she can think of is Inga. The girl's presence compromised her. How? Why? She had no idea. The presence of Natalia returns to her while she is stored away in the safe house and she uses this familiarity to analyze the fight. What was it about Inga that had caused this shift that is so unnatural and unfamiliar? What about that stupid, idiot girl is it that compromised a Black Widow's training? It is unheard of. The very point cultivating such a weapon is that it cannot be compromised by things as frivolous and fleeting as _emotion_ and _feeling_.

And yet here she sits in a pool of emotion that she has no idea how to handle. She doesn't know where it comes from or what it is trying to tell her. But she knows that she is drowning in it.

_Anger,_ she recognizes.

_Revenge_, she can understand.

_Protect_.

She doesn't know. Protect what? Who? Why?

_ The girl with the name._

It becomes clear to her that Inga has not said anything incriminating about her to her father. Nemchinov does not come to interrogate her. He does come to the safe house to ask her what happened. She mechanically tells him the facts. He seems only concerned about her. Ilya Nemchinov is worried about the sweet, lovely nanny that his daughter adored only a few weeks ago. He promises Natuska that she is safe. He promises that nothing like that will ever threaten her again. Nemchinov tells her that he'll protect her. Ilya Nemchinov thanks Natuska Shostakova for risking her life to protect the little body that walks around with his heart.

Inga misses her, he tells her. Will Natuska come back? He has increased security at the house. Inga feels safe with Natuska around. He understands if she wants more time to adjust and recover from that nasty shock. The girl misses her and so does Nemchinov.

Natalia cannot understand. Is Inga protecting her? Lying to her father? The little girl had seen the predator that Natalia is. She saw the Black Widow rise to the surface and attack. Perhaps her lackluster performance had worked to her advantage. Did Nemchinov think that she had merely been trying to protect her charge? Inga is not as stupid as she pretends to be. She must know to some degree what Natalia is. She must suspect that Natalia is not merely a babysitter. She is an agent. A spy. Inga must know what her father does is less than upright. She _must_ think that Natalia is working against it because off all the shit that has landed at her father's feet over the past several months.

What is Inga trying to do?

_The girl with the name._

Natalia tells Ilya Nemchinov, "I'll be back tonight."

He kisses her cheek in gratitude when he leaves.

That swirling pool of emotion in her stomach roils and tells her, _Protect._

And just like that, she has a mission. She already has the intel though she doesn't remember where it comes from. She knows what needs to be done. The men leave with Nemchinov. Only two remain to help Natuska gather up her precious few belongings to return to work, the mansion, and Inga. One of the men she convinces to go on his way. He has a girl somewhere, she knows. He hasn't had the chance to talk to her since the disaster at the mansion.

The second man she loses the hard way. She tells him that her mother is in the hospital and that Natuska really needs to see her. He looks put out but goes along with it. Natalia brushes his arm with a suppressant. He sits in wait in one of the "lounges" for distressed family. Natalia walks down a hallway and slips into an empty room. She counts the minutes. She knows that he'll be out in only a few minutes.

There is a shout and scuffling in the hallway. She leaves the room and leaves the hospital. She gets a ride to the city. It takes a few hours of wandering before she finds her target. She stalks him for an additional hour. She's on a clock, but it's not _that_ demanding. She had to be back when her "body guard" wakes up and is released.

Natalia tracks her prey to an antique shop. She leans over the glass counter and looks down at a music box with a tag that suggests it is hand-carved and dates back to fall of the Tsar Nicholas II. Natalia doubts it more than she's doubted anything in her life, but it's a pretty thing. The panes in the windows shake with the thunder of an imminent storm.

All those other personalities she could pull on like a second skin are still too far away, so she is forced to be herself. It's all for the best. He would be suspicious if anyone but Natalia showed up. She catches her subject's eye and twitches her lips just enough for him to see. She moves around the shop, tracking his movements. They meet eyes frequently. By design. He has no one around to protect him. He is as alone as she is. He thinks too highly of himself to think that he needs protection. He walks into the washroom in the shadowy back end of the store. A few moments later, she follows.

He says, "One of my Widows."

Natalia inclines her head. He knows. He helped make a ghost and took what he learned to make twenty-eight spiders. She is moving before he can say anything else. She slaps his face with a dermal toxin. It will look like a man simply had a lethal cardiac event on the toilet in mere minutes. She sentences him to death for daring to take away a little girl's name.

He is still breathing (realizing that his Black Widows are capable of being corrupt and imperfect, that he is a failure) when she leaves the washroom. Natalia smiles at the shopkeeper and buys the music box.

Outside, the clouds finally buckle under the weight of themselves. It rains. Lightning flashes and the ground shakes.

Natalia goes to the hospital and waits two minutes for her escort to come grumbling up to her. He takes her back to the Nemchinov estate. He goes straight home afterwards. She walks inside the mansion as if she's lived here her entire life.

It's raining.

Natalia hears the tendrils of a melody just under the crashing of thunder. She pauses mid-step—listening. It is a common piece; one of those preludes to Bach's cello suites. Inga must be up. Natalia follows the sounds even though she knows it is not wise to be in another's company right now. There is a _feeling_ curling like snakes in her stomach, and she cannot make it leave. She knows Inga should not see her like this—she should not see _Natalia_. (Again.)

Inga sits in a chair facing a dying fire. She pulls the bow across the strings, fingers pressing and shifting along the neck of her cello. Natalia doesn't try to hide her presence even though it would be so easy. She could stand in this room and listen for hours and Inga would never be any wiser. But she doesn't try to hide now. Natalia listens to the words Inga isn't saying; a captive audience. The sounds are familiar and common, but it might as well be the first time Natalia has heard any of them.

She walks until she is seated on the bench before the grand piano—Inga's other instrument. The music fills the vast room even though it is not particularly loud. It fills the room like the soft light of a candle. That heaviness that is so foreign to Natalia shifts toward the sounds. She wants it gone. She doesn't know what it is, but she knows that she doesn't want it. It curls and expands in her gut. It grips her throat; not enough to choke but enough to let her know it's there. It pushes on the backs of her eyes and makes her head feel too heavy for her neck.

But this music, these sounds. They are far worse and much better than anything Natalia has ever felt before. It is so incredibly close to taking her away.

Inga drags her bow across the strings abruptly. Her other hand falls away from the cello. She looks at Natalia with rivers in her eyes.

Inga says, "He didn't want me to play, you know. Said it was _her_ instrument. My mother's."

Natalia doesn't say anything. She wants so badly for that stupid little girl to start playing again.

"He doesn't understand. Have you ever lost someone and no one else understood what that someone meant to you?"

_I have never lost anything because I've never had anything to lose_.

Natalia can't make herself be Natuska. The _feeling_ in her is too heavy, too _present _to be traded away for a lie. She looks at Inga—who is letting rivers smooth away the memories of her mother—and nods her head yes.

Inga says, "I hate the cello. It makes me cry and feel bad, but it's all I have of her. If I have to feel like this every time I play, it's worth it."

And she cries.

Natalia sits at the piano bench and lets her fingers rest atop the ivory keys. Her eyes want to stray toward the crying girl, but she won't allow them. She can't. It isn't hers. Nothing about Inga is Natalia. There is a need in Natalia. It's the heaviness inside her that makes her sit up straight and press her fingers gently against the piano keys.

Natalia plays a spiraling melody, notes that turn in circles—feet that are moving but never going. Natalia plays a question, a request.

Inga answers. It hurts her and it makes her sad, but Inga Nemchinova draws the bow over the strings once more. She plays what Natalia asked her to play. The rivers run dry on Inga's youthful cheeks. She closes her eyes so she may trick herself into believing that her mother is there. Inga remembers and Natalia spirals into herself.

As they play, Natalia feels as if she's cracking. She's not big enough to contain the growing weight inside her. She is not Natuska, nor is she Natalia—she isn't Natasha or Natalie or Nadine or Laura or Oktober or Tsarina or anyone else. She is only herself. Something within is giving up. Something within is turning off. Something within is dying.

And she feels relieved.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong>

**The song described at the end is intended to be 'Le Cygne,' which was composed by ****Camille Saint-Saëns for his suite _Le Carnaval des Animaux_. It is the music to which _'_The Dying Swan' was choreographed. It was mentioned (in Chapter 4: Romeo and Juliet) that 'The Dying Swan' was the last dance Black Widow did while with the Bolshoi Ballet. **

**Black Widow knew the man in the antique shop from the Red Room. The 'ghost' mentions are shameless references to the Winter Soldier. **


End file.
